


'cause i don't wanna lose you now, i'm looking right at the other half of me

by soliloquies



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: But Only Sorta, F/M, Feelings, Fluff, Stydia, and peter and theo and liam, and so are malia, and that took me like 3 months, but whatevs, during 6x10, i had too many feels for this, like scott's there for a while, lydia's figuring stuff out, oh yeah and sheriff stilinski, so i had to write a fic of course, sorry i'm so late with this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-26 09:35:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12056199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soliloquies/pseuds/soliloquies
Summary: Lydia and Stiles and what comes after. Set during 6x10.





	'cause i don't wanna lose you now, i'm looking right at the other half of me

**Author's Note:**

> my first ao3 fic!!!! anyway, here's a little stydia, a ship that holds a special place in my heart. sorry i'm like 7 months late. 
> 
> title from justin timberlake's "mirrors"

There was a silence for a moment, and Scott fell to his knees in the clearing.

The Ghost Riders were gone. Mr. Douglas was gone. They had done it. They were finally, finally gone.  
Malia took a deep breath and sagged against Peter. He looked startled for a moment, then let her, turning slightly so that she was against his shoulder.

Theo and Liam grinned at each other tiredly, an odd sight, but one that would be happening more and more in the coming weeks.

_Stiles_ , Scott thought, and like magic, Stiles stumbled into the clearing, holding Lydia’s hand. They murmured something to each other, before letting go. Stiles walked towards Scott, Lydia towards Malia.

Well. That was a new development.

“Hey,” Stiles said, nearing Scott. He reached out his hand to haul Scott up. “Don’t tell me I missed the final battle! I love it when I hide in a corner while you punch the bad guys. That's the best part.”

Scott chuckled wryly. “Yeah, for sure.”

Stiles glanced backwards at Lydia; she happened to be looking at him too. Malia was saying something animatedly, no doubt relaying the events of the fight, and Peter was watching her with a sort of fondness that probably no one else noticed. Lydia was hardly listening.

Scott watched something pass between the two. “Hey, is something going on with you guys?” he asked. While Stiles had been gone, Lydia was the one who never gave in, never gave up looking for him. He even remembered her saying she thought she loved Stiles.

“Yeah…,” Stiles began, still staring at her. “We kissed.”

“Wha—” Scott started. He didn't understand why Stiles wasn't freaking out. “Dude, that’s awesome!”

“Yeah,” Stiles repeated. He looked back at Scott and grinned, a smile that lit up his whole face.

 

_He’d really missed Stiles_ , Scott realized. He just hadn’t known it.

Suddenly the smile vanished and Stiles looked backwards again. Lydia was still looking at them. Stiles sighed, something solemn in his voice. “I don’t think she’s okay though.”

Stiles told him what had happened in the girls’ locker room, and with his mom. “She’s been kind of quiet ever since,” he explained. “I don’t know. It could be nothing.”

Scott encouraged, “You should go talk to her.”

Stiles looked pained. “Really? But I don’t want to leave you here just-”

Scott rolled his eyes, probably something he’d picked up from being in close proximity with Lydia for so long. “Go,” he said, shoving him away.

Liam came up beside Scott. “Finally,” he said, gesturing over to Stiles walking over to Lydia. “What?” he said defensively, noticing Scott’s weird look. “I kinda shipped them.”

 

 

Stiles came up next to Lydia and brushed her fingers with his own. He was pretty sure that his mind hadn’t processed the last few days (or few months) completely yet, especially the last few hours, or he would’ve been in a state of shock.

He was taken by bad guys ( _super_ bad guys).

His friends hadn’t known he existed for three months.

He had kissed Lydia Martin.

_She’d kissed back._

“Hey,” he murmured. Malia was talking to Peter now, and Lydia was standing off to the side, looking blankly into the woods. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

She nodded wordlessly and let him pull her off to the side, underneath the thick branches of trees. She almost laughed at where they were. So many things had happened in these woods, she’d lost count. So many things would’ve happened right under her nose if she hadn’t met Stiles or Scott. So many things left unknown.

She could see concern in Stiles’s eyes. He was worried for her. “Lydia… are you okay? You’ve been kind of… off, since we faced my mom.”

“I…,” she started, then stopped. There had been a sinking feeling in her core since they'd left the school, like the quiet horror that they were so close to losing everything. What was with her? Being around Scott, they were always infinitesimally close to losing everything.

Somehow this felt different.

The words clogged up in her throat, showing themselves by forming tears in her eyes.

“Wha— Hey! Hey, Lydia, it’s okay, it’s okay, we’re okay now.” She remembered her mother telling her to stop crying as a child, that crying never solved anything. That girls looked ugly when they cried, so she should wipe those tears and smile. Stiles wrapped his arms around her, and dimly she realized this was the second time she had cried in front of a boy, and she was glad it hadn't been anyone else.

She felt him against her, holding her, then staring at a spot over her head - mouthing words to Scott, no doubt.

There was the jingle of keys, and then they were walking out of the woods and across the school towards his jeep, so familiar it brought an ache to her heart in all its blue, patched-up glory.

They got in soundlessly, and only until the doors had slammed closed and they were cut off from the rest of the world did the tears really begin to fall. In a few seconds, she was full-on sobbing, clutching her arms in a desperate attempt to stop.

“I’m sorry, I— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said, but it came out warbled and incomprehensible, because damn it, she was still crying.

Stop. Stop. Nobody wants to see you cry.

What was wrong with her? How many times had they faced danger like this before? How many times had she almost died— two, three? How many times had they been so close to the edge, just millimeters away, hanging on by a thread?

She didn’t understand what was so different about this time than any of the other times they’d faced impending doom. But she couldn’t seem to get the images out of her head.

Claudia Stilinski, her face sunken and deformed, and Lydia seizing up because her hands were around Lydia’s neck.

Then— relief turned to unimaginable horror because Stiles was there, and she could breathe again, but suddenly Stiles was up against the wall, and he was choking, and _she was not_ going lose Stiles again just minutes after she’d got him back. She couldn't.

It was all she could think about. Stiles, suffocating against the school wall, and her not being able to do anything about it. The scene went around and around in her mind like the hands of a clock.

Suddenly there was a face in her hair, and warm hands prying hers off her arms. Stiles said nothing, but tugged her towards him until she was practically halfway in his lap. He smoothed down her hair, ran his fingers through it calmingly until she was only sniffling quietly, the tears all used up.

“It’s okay,” he repeated when she had quieted fully. He hadn’t moved from their position, but Lydia’s legs were starting to hurt, and she was sure his arms were too. “We’re okay now. You’re okay. I’m okay. Scott, Malia, Liam, Peter, Hayden, Corey, Mason, hell, even _Theo’s_ okay, and he was rotting underground last I checked.”

Lydia felt her heartbeat calm as he listed off the names of all their friends. He was right. They had lots of people who cared about them, and those people were all safe.

Stiles continued softly, “And I can’t promise you we’ll be okay for long— God knows Beacon Hills is never okay for too long— but I know that no matter what happens, I’m sure we’ll be okay.”

Lydia shook her head and sniffled, sliding back into her own seat. Stiles started up the car. “You can’t promise that,” she said, ever the logical one.

“Yeah,” Stiles replied, “But I can hope. And that's worth more.”

 

 

The ride was silent. Not the uncomfortable kind of silent, however. Stiles was driving with one hand, half-holding hers with his other one. They were already halfway through when Lydia bothered to ask where they were going.

“My house,” Stiles said casually. Lydia nodded at that. She could already feel the familiarity of his room, with the red string zigzagging across his murder board and the lacrosse participation trophies sitting on his shelves.

In no time, they were there, and suddenly Stiles was swinging open the front door, saying, “Man, it’s good to be home. I cannot believe I spent the last three months of senior year non-existent. I was telling Scott, if they don’t let me graduate, I may have to sic Malia on them.”

He paused when he noticed she hadn’t stepped inside yet. “Come on,” he said pulling her gently over the threshold. “You’re probably hungry, what with saving the entire town of Beacon Hills and everything.”

It turned out, Stiles actually knew how to cook something. Granted, that something was Kraft mac and cheese, but Lydia was pleasantly surprised. They sat there, blowing the steam from the heat from the pasta.

Stiles took out his phone to text his dad. “He’s probably at the station,” he clarified for her. “You know, getting caught up. He usually won’t come home for another hour or two.”

It dawned on Lydia that she was in a house, alone, with Stiles.

It dawned on Stiles at the exact same time. He cleared his throat.

“So, wanna head into my room?”

 

 

Inside, Lydia perched daintily on his bed and stared around his room, like she’d never seen it before.

It was dark. They hadn’t even turned the lights on when they’d come inside, and suddenly the air was intimate.

Stiles stood at the doorway, breathing in deep.

“Ah,” he said fondly, as if talking to an old friend. His arms were spread wide, like he was welcoming someone in for a hug. “I’ve missed you, room.”

She rolled her eyes. Stiles grinned, watching her. His eyes softened. He came to sit next to her, close, but not quite touching. Lydia couldn’t figure out if she wanted more or less room between them.

“That was one of the things I missed most about you,” he said, unabashed now that they were tentatively together. “The way you roll your eyes like that.”

Less. Definitely less.

She stared at him, trying to think of something to say back, but she was Lydia Martin, and all the things that didn’t matter went right, and all the things that did matter went wrong.

She stood up, declared, “I’m gonna use the bathroom.” And then the room was quiet.

 

 

Stiles flopped backwards onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. A wave passed through him, and he blinked.

He’d actually just kissed Lydia Martin, and she’d actually just kissed back.

(He wasn’t sure how he hadn't spontaneously combusted yet.)

He’d always been fine with loving her from afar, never coming within arm’s reach. Of course, he had hoped, but somewhere in his mind he knew it would never happen. Lydia Martin was _way up there_ , and Stiles was _way down here._

But this wasn’t Lydia Martin. This was Lydia.

He hoped he hadn’t scared her away, being honest like that. He could name all the little things that he loved about her: the way she rolled her eyes, her sarcastic quips, always ready to fire back at him, the way she cried wholly, without abandon, like the sadness was so great it reached her bones. He loved the shine of her hair. He loved the way she loved Malia and Scott no matter what, but didn't show it.

He didn’t want to get off the bed and go to the hallway because he wasn’t entirely sure if she was actually in the bathroom, or lingering in the hall, debating on whether to make a run for it or stay.

He was hoping she’d stay, obviously, but he knew that if he saw her standing there, a) it would make for a very awkward conversation and b) she would feel pressured to stay, and he didn’t want to force her into anything.  
Stiles sighed and closed his eyes. He knew she meant the kiss. He knew it wasn’t a fluke. The only thing now was for Lydia to convince herself it was worth the effort of going after.

Because Stiles knew Lydia, and knew that her pride wouldn’t let anyone too close to her heart where they could scrutinize every inch of her. He knew she wouldn’t ever ask for help if she didn’t want to, and nobody knew her secrets except herself. And he definitely knew that she was a lot like Scott in the way that where she looked most strong she was actually a hair’s width away from shattering, and that she wasn’t brave enough to ask for the things she truly, wholly wanted because the things that made her happy had a tendency of vanishing before her eyes.

He was hoping to change that.

But for that, he needed to give a little more for a while.

 

 

Lydia stood in the hall, wondering if she should actually go to the bathroom to keep up the trick. She decided to do it, considering the difficult moment that could occur if Stiles left the room while she was “gone.”

She’d had flings. She’d always detested that word, the way it reminded you of something that was disposable, like garbage. Sure, there had been some questionable one-night stands when Lydia wanted to feel like she was worth something, wanted to remind herself that she was wanted, but never was any one of those boys _garbage_.

She’d even had Jackson, the closest thing to a boyfriend yet. He was kind of shitty, that was for sure. She kind of missed him, but not as a boyfriend.

So what was really stopping her from Stiles? He was amazing, he was kind, he was funny, he was brave, he loved her. No one had ever really loved her before.

Lydia stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. There was a tube of toothpaste lying on the counter, and the towel was on the floor, but it was otherwise surprisingly clean for a place owned by two males.

Strangely enough, there was a hair tie on the counter. She supposed it was from Claudia (could things that never existed in the first place still leave relics? To be honest, at the moment she didn’t really care.) and it looked clean. She looked at her reflection again, her paleness of her face heightened in the bathroom light, the strings of hair stuck to her face and arms. She looked like she’d just encountered a ghost. She supposed she had.

She smoothed her hair and tied it into a ponytail. There. Finally some order. Her nervousness slightly decreased.

Now onto the Stiles thing.

Allison had always told her to go for it, had always encouraged her to do whatever felt right. But this felt so right she wasn't sure it wasn't a trick.

Stiles made her feel like she was flying, soaring high above the clouds. But a part of her wondered if this was a high that she would fall down from.

Lydia reminisced all the small details: the moments their hands would brush together or their eyes would meet across a room, the moments he made her feel strong and the moments he made her feel weak, and all the moments in between.

She could picture Allison’s knowing expression now. _Just do it,_ _Lydia. Don’t worry so much, everything will turn out fine. And besides, haven’t you faced worse before?_

I have, she answered, feeling the enormity of that sink in. I have faced worse, and no matter what happens, I’m not going down yet.

With blossoming courage, she walked back to the room, clearing her throat and watching Stiles shoot up. He blinked for a moment, and a smile took over his face, so big and so bright, Lydia thought she was staring into the sun. She couldn’t help but smile slightly back.

The next few minutes were spent in silence, and despite her confidence earlier, Lydia couldn’t remember why she was sitting in the dark contemplating her life choices next to a boy she’d only kissed twice. The doubts set back in, creeping through her mind like snakes.

She couldn’t do this. She hadn’t thought this through. She was giving her heart up again and it would be ashes this time, because she wasn’t sure it could be burned again and still left whole.

She was weak; she knew it. But she needed Stiles right now. She needed him to be strong for her, once more.

And if he didn’t get that, she would go.

And to be honest, she wasn’t sure she’d come back.

Steeling her mind, Lydia said, “I should probably go.”

She stood up abruptly. The bed creaked with the lack of weight. Yet she stood there, hesitantly, and glanced at Stiles, almost out of habit, waiting for him to say something.

Stiles tried; no words came. _You’ve just got here. Don’t go._

Or, differently: _Okay._

He could practically see Lydia’s face fall, though her expression didn't change. He saw in the darkness the way her hair cascaded over her shoulder, still messy even after being pulled into a ponytail.

He knew the way she moved. He knew the way she breathed. He knew everything he could possibly know about her, and it still wasn't everything. It still wasn't enough.

“Lydia, wait,” he croaked out, before he could think. “Stay.” It was one of those moments when his brain was too shocked to reprimand his mouth for saying things without thinking, and for once in his life, he was glad for its impulsiveness.

She turned abruptly on her heel, and suddenly she was there, beside him on the bed, with her much-needed touch and lips crashing against his and liquid gold was running through his veins because if his heart wasn't pumping pure happiness, he didn't know what it was doing.

They had been carefully apart the whole time, scared to make wrong move, Lydia thought; now they were together at last, Stiles wondered how he hadn't lost his mind waiting since third-freaking-grade for this.

They were everywhere, and in the silence of his bedroom he could hear his heart pounding in his ears, the gasps of breath they both took when they pulled apart, the sighs Lydia let out when he pulled her closer, harder against him. 

If they had been missing out on this, Stiles thought, he didn't know how they lived all this time without it.

He never wanted to let her go, he wanted to drown in her and lose himself so no one would ever find him again.

He felt like singing, like praying, like crying, like laughing, because everything was happening and Lydia was kissing him and _oh God_.

Lydia Martin was kissing him.

Not Lydia Martin, Stiles chastised himself. Lydia. Lydia, who was warm and pliant under his fingers. Lydia, whose eyes were shining and lips were swollen. Lydia, with the soft curves of her body and the sharp edges of her mind.

Lydia, who was his, just as he was hers.

They fell asleep like that, holding each other like it was their last day together. When his father came home, he smiled, seeing the two curled up and leeching each other’s warmth.

 

And if Stiles woke up to find that Lydia was gone, having padded away in the early hours of the morning, well, then he would smile to himself, because he knew that it didn’t matter if she was gone now; he would see her at school anyway, and now there was nothing to worry about because everything had changed, and Lydia would always be there, just within arm’s reach.


End file.
